


Ball of Purr

by kentucka



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Gets To Pet A Cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kentucka/pseuds/kentucka
Summary: A fluffy little thing (pun intended) in which Geralt gets to pet a cat.That's it, that's the fic.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Ball of Purr

Geralt had finished stacking up firewood, and sank down into a pile of leaves next to a tree stump.This was going to be his bed for tonight. He’d killed the monster that stole the farmers’ livestock, but tracking it had taken longer and led him further from town where he’d left Roach and Jaskier than anticipated. Now he was too far to attempt returning, on foot, in the middle of the night.

He sighed. It could be worse. It could be raining, then there would be no decently dry wood to be found. Blizzards. Mosquitoes. Knee-deep in a swamp. Or he could be in the company of a certain bard, then he’d have his ears talked off about the whole situation.

No, no. As far as shitty nights went, this wasn’t even in his top hundred.

Geralt leaned back against the tree stump, and shielded his eyes which were still hypersensitive, although the worst of the Cat potion had worn off and his pupils were just a tad too large still. Then he flicked his fingers, a little Igni to the dry grass kindling at the bottom of the wood pile. After that it took only moments for the wood to catch the flame.

He sighed again, dropping his head back on the top of the stump and stared at the stars, listened to the quiet noises of the forest at night. Rodents rustled in the underbrush, a stag roared a few miles away. It felt nice, to have it so peaceful for once.

With some dismay, Geralt realized that one of the reasons it felt good was the fact that he hadn’t had to endure loneliness in a while. And because of the knowledge that come morning, Jaskier would be dancing circles around him again, demanding a play-by-play of Geralt’s ‘heroics.’ Here, alone in the woods, far away from Jaskier’s keen gaze, Geralt allowed himself a smile at the thought.

A whisper of a sound drew Geralt’s attention back to his camp. Barely a disturbance of wind, a light tread - his mind was already sifting through the list of ghost and wraith creatures that could be nimble enough. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his silver sword where it leaned next to him. Soft moss squished underfoot. Branches combed through hair. Maybe something more substantial after all? His hearing honed in on a gap in the bushes straight ahead.

He saw the eyes first - pupils reflecting the fire, quickly drawing to slits in the light. They cleared the ground by a foot or two, so it was something small or slither-y? But then the rest of it became visible and oh, it was just a _cat._

A house cat, well fed and healthy, a calico whose dark spots shimmered in the firelight.

Geralt grimaced. Surely it would only take another second for the cat to hiss at him, all bristling fur and sharp claws. Cats hated him, generally. Was he down-wind?

The cat regarded him happily, meowed even, and that behavior was so strange that Geralt frowned. Was it rabid? No, it seemed far too well-groomed.

At Geralt’s frown it plopped down on its butt, ducking its head, ears turned down, almost looking… sheepish. What the heck?

Oh well, it was only a cat, and so Geralt finally let go of his sword and reclined again. He watched it slink closer, utterly nonplussed that a cat would seek him out, but let it do as it pleased. It nosed at his hand that he had rested on his stomach, pushing underneath, and that made Geralt chuckle.

“You’re just begging to be petted, aren’t you?” he asked, pitching his voice low to avoid scaring it off.

He needn’t have worried. As soon as he’d lifted his hand the cat put its front paws on his stomach and rose up, looking straight at him, head now on his level. Its eyes were blue, rare for grown cats with the exception of certain breeds. But Geralt dismissed the strangeness; a world in which gold dragons were a thing despite the infinitesimal chances of their creation could easily have mutated a calico’s eyes blue. Who was he to question nature.

Instead he settled his fingers against the cat’s forehead, dragging them back and down its head. It stretched up immediately, pushing for more. So Geralt repeated the movement, stroking longer down its back where it stretched up from the ground next to him. The sleek, clean fur against his palm felt nice. After a few times he added in a scritch behind the ears.

The cat tread against his chest, its hinds flexing. Geralt spread his arms.

“All right, up you go.”

No sooner had he removed his hands, the cat had jumped. Now it stood on his chest, tiny back paws almost uncomfortable pressure against his stomach until he tensed his abs. It stared at him again, somewhat disturbing, until it very deliberately butted its head against Geralt’s chin. Then it turned in a circle, and curled up on his chest.

“Mmh,” Geralt rumbled a laugh, and one of its ears flicked, eye opening to silently judge him. “You must like that I’m warm,” he guessed, and carefully started stroking along its back again.

The campfire kept Geralt warm, and Geralt kept the cat warm. Why not?

The cat’s eyes closed, and so Geralt followed suit. As he relaxed back and let his mind drift off into light meditation, his fingers found new ways over the fur. It was endlessly soft as he buried his fingers in it, ruffling the downy hairs at the cat’s belly. Rivalling the furs of a wolf’s winter coat at royal courts.

Somewhere along the way, the cat had started purring, and Geralt enjoyed that too. It oozed contentment, in a way few living creatures ever did in the proximity of a witcher. Well, except Jaskier. Although the bard was mostly nervous energy, when he did finally bed down and fall asleep with Geralt close at his back on a too-narrow cot, he did seem to rest particularly well.

The cat’s body heat was a comfort on his chest, and as he pushed his hands over it in light, repetitive motions, it also kept his fingers warm. A paw twitched in sleep. Geralt felt the continuous purr vibrate softly through his body--

\-- only to startle upright with realization. The ‘purr’ was changing pitch, it had a distinct melody to it, and although it was much, much slower than how Geralt usually heard it, he couldn’t help but recognize Toss A Coin!

A mangled screech came from the upended cat. Geralt had held onto it instinctively, which was the only reason it hadn’t been dropped straight into the grass, but now he gripped it a bit tighter around its shoulders to peer closely at its face. At its blue, blue eyes in the exact same shade...

Once he’d lifted it away from his chest, he noticed that his witcher medallion was humming faintly as well, he just hadn’t felt it over the cat’s purring.

The cat stopped struggling in his hold. Ears drooped sadly, hind legs and tail hanging limp, it met his gaze briefly.

“JASKIER!!”

It rose a resigned front paw, as if to say “hello.”

**Author's Note:**

> Of course Jaskier has gotten himself cursed while Geralt wasn't there to grab him by the scruff and stop him from sleeping with the wrong person (or insulting the wrong person for talking shit about witchers).
> 
> Ciri: oh no we lost Jaskier!  
> Geralt: don't worry I've got this  
> Geralt: *cups hands around mouth* WITCHERS ARE MONSTERS!  
> Jaskier: WHO SAID THAT?? FACE ME!! I WILL STRANGLE YOU WITH MY LUTE STRINGS!  
> Geralt: found him
> 
> Naturally they now embark on the quest to transform Jaskier back.  
> In the meantime, Jaskier works hard on improving the witcher's reputation amongst the Continent's feline population.


End file.
